


Last Chance to Lose Control

by felonazcorp



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: D/s, Dirty Talk, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Injuries, Office Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Voyeurism, shades of Daddy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felonazcorp/pseuds/felonazcorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy finds it almost impossible to fall asleep without having an orgasm first. Which is somewhat difficult these days, as a dorm filled with other recruits, a two-way mirror, and the inescapable security cameras that dot every corner of Kingsman HQ make it a little inconvenient to jerk off every night. </p><p>Eggsy's never been the type to let "inconvenient" get in his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's not that he can't _ever_ fall asleep without a wank, but there's something to be said about the release of tension that comes with an orgasm that tips him into slumber better than any drink ever could. 

While he lived at home, he had to be careful about how often he masturbated, both because he shared his room with his little sister (which drastically reduced the times he _could_ masturbate, because what kind of sick fuck rubbed one out when there was a _baby_ sleeping three feet away?), and because even if she wasn't in his room, the fact that his door didn't lock meant he was never afforded that much privacy. Eggsy learned very early on how to wrap things up quickly and efficiently.

Now that he's at Kingsman, he has to admit he's a little grateful for the hassle, honestly. It taught him to be fast and silent, biting back any whimpering he might feel like indulging in, and it taught him how to minimize the clean-up after. It's a little awkward to shuffle out of bed with his hand cupped to keep his cooling spunk collected in his palm as he goes to take a leak and wash his hands, but it's far less awkward than having to try to hide the stiff stain on his sheets come morning. 

(They make their own beds every morning; they have to, it was part of training from day one. It doesn't stop his conviction that someone comes in while they're being tortured by Merlin to replace their bedding with fresh linens. Even if he _was_ able to hide the evidence of his wanking during the night from the other candidates, the thought of some faceless Kingsman employee handling his dirty sheets makes his face burn with preemptive embarrassment.) 

He had been pretty sure that the fact that he shares a room with a bunch of rich arseholes (and Roxy, can't forget Roxy) would be enough of a libido-killer, but as loath as he is to admit it, some of the blokes are pretty fit. (Roxy being fit is a forgone conclusion, but Roxy's his mate now, and you don't wank thinking about your mates. It's just not cool.) 

Worse than getting distracted by Charlie's stupid mouth is the fact that their handler is _well fit_ , and he doesn't even seem to realize it. 

Eggsy strives to make his nighttime wanking as efficient as he's ever been, trying to rub one out without thinking of anything other than the slide of his palm against his cock, but it's hard not to let his thoughts drift. Merlin has starred in more of his accidental fantasies than Eggsy feels fully comfortable admitting to, and it's not just because he's one of the few authority figures in Eggsy's life who seems to give a shit about him. 

The showers are open to the air, no concession given to the fact that they're a co-ed dorm, which means it's highly embarrassing to get a stiffy during their evening sluice-offs as there's absolutely no way of hiding it from the others, but the fact that the mirror he knows Merlin can watch them from behind is _right there_ makes Little Eggsy stand to attention more often than he'd like. Sometimes he envies Roxy. When she gets turned on, she can probably do it completely sneaky-like. Nobody has to know when she's getting excited. When Eggsy gets excited, though... 

So he's taken to wanking in bed, about twenty-five minutes after lights out, giving everyone time to fall into an exhausted slumber so he has more privacy to stuff his fist in his mouth and keep quiet. He keeps his back turned to the mirror, terrified that Merlin might pass by for some reason, terrified that he might get caught as he slides his hand into his pajama bottoms and curls his fingers around his half-hard dick. 

Intellectually, he's sure Merlin wouldn't comment, even if he did catch Eggsy jerking it. He's clearly done this whole trainer thing before for other crops of recruits, and so there's almost a zero percent chance he _hasn't_ accidentally watched some young bloke or other rub one out, but that doesn't mean Eggsy wants to draw Merlin's attention to him while he's vulnerable like that. Just the thought of Merlin mentioning something to him about being _more discreet_ makes the back of his neck burn, and he can't for the life of him figure out if it's with embarrassment or excitement. 

When he finds himself gasping out a muffled, “Fuck, _Merlin_ ,” as his thoughts drift towards their handler again — the interminable length of his legs, the breadth of his shoulders that have the smallest curve from sitting at a desk for so long, the hard planes of his torso that belie said curve of his spine, those hands, the sound of his voice when he chastises him — he realizes it's the latter. 

Staring at the back of Roxy's head in dismay, Eggsy feels like Charlie's thrown another bucket of water over him. Even as the tail-end of his orgasm drifts along his spine like sparks thrown from the fire, he can't enjoy himself, because he's too busy having some kind of epiphany, and it's horrible. 

Finding Merlin attractive in an abstract kind of way is one thing. He could even survive the realization that well over half of his nighttime wanks center around the man in one way or another.

Realizing that he _wants_ Merlin to see him, wants him to be striding past the dorm and pause, staring at the sight Eggsy presents as he fists his cock, wants him to get distracted from what he's doing so badly that he stops and stares, wants him to be so affected that he brings it up later, either to tell Eggsy to find some other way to release his tension or to tell him to come to his office if he's that desperate for it, is a realization he's not sure he can handle. How is he supposed to keep it off his face? Merlin has a way of seeing straight through you, right down to your soft squishy parts, those hard green eyes flaying you open and rifling through your secrets like the Sunday papers. There's no way he won't know what Eggsy thinks about when he sees him. 

Muffling a groan, Eggsy yanks his pants up with his clean hand and tries to clamber out of bed without spilling the mess in his other, padding down the aisle between the beds on bare feet. The mirror stands right in front of him, mocking him, taunting him, and he can't help but stare at his own reflection in the dim light of the dorm. He's mussed, clearly, red-faced and rumpled, and even if you couldn't see the jizz in his palm, it would be fairly obvious what he was just doing. 

Despite the sick feeling churning in his gut, his cock gives an interested twitch between his legs as he stares at the mirror, his downstairs brain obviously far less consternated about his realization about Merlin than his upstairs brain is. There's no real way to tell that there's someone behind the glass from this side, but Eggsy can't help feeling like he's being watched as he relieves himself and washes his hands, the back of his neck burning as he imagines eyes boring holes into the back of his head as he stands at the sink and scrubs at his hands for far longer than is actually necessary. 

It takes him a very long time to fall asleep that night. 

 

He expects Merlin to berate him for his sluggishness the next day, expects to be given another lap around the track to run, some sort of punishment for his poor performance, but all Merlin does is frown at him over his clipboard, his mouth thinning even more into an even more severe line. 

Eggsy knows he's fucked, because even looking like an angry turtle, having Merlin's undivided attention like that is enough to make his stomach flip. 

When they're finished sparring for the day and allowed to go back to the dorm, Eggsy finds himself lagging behind the group. He didn't do it on purpose, honest, but somehow he's the last one trudging through the doors of the gym, a fact that lets Merlin clap his hand on Eggsy's shoulders as he passes, halting his progression. 

“Are you alright, lad?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together. It makes his forehead crinkle in a new and distressing manner, and Eggsy has the brief, hysterical thought that he doesn't know where Merlin's forehead stops and his scalp begins. How far back does it go? Is he all forehead? 

He splutters out something that must be enough of an affirmative, because Merlin's hand on his shoulder tightens in a squeeze that almost has Eggsy's knees buckling. _Oh no._

“You're looking a bit peaky. You should try going to bed early tonight. Or perhaps you should go down to Medical. There's no shame in getting looked at if you're coming down with something.” 

Just the thought of sleeping in the beds in the medical wing for the night is even more terrifying somehow than sleeping in the dorms. The staff are all lovely, Eggsy had made their acquaintance early on, but there's even more surveillance there than anywhere in HQ, and there's no chance he'd be able to wank in secret there. 

He babbles out a promise to get checked out if he feels any worse, and somehow manages to dislodge Merlin's hand from his shoulder, all but running down the corridor to the dorms, running away from that hard stare that bores into his very soul. 

Despite himself, he thinks about that stare that night as he quietly jerks his cock beneath his covers, imagining Merlin perched on the edge of one of the beds in front of him, impassively observing as Eggsy works himself over, making notes on his clipboard the way he does when he watches them box or disassemble and clean rifles, or any of the other tasks he has them perform while he judges them with a stony-faced stare. 

There's blood in his mouth when he comes from his bitten tongue, his orgasm crashing into him quicker than any of the nights previous, and it feels a little like his spine's been liquified when he finally stops twitching. 

He knows he's imagining it, but he can't help hearing a soft, _“Well done, son,”_ drift through his ear as he climbs back into bed after washing his hands, and he's powerless to stop the flush of pleasure he feels at the imagined praise as he mashes his head into his pillow and drifts off to sleep.

 

Over the next few weeks, they say goodbye to Rufus, Hugo, and Digby. Eggsy isn't sad to see them go. Tossers, the lot of them. 

Their absence has the added benefit of making it a lot easier to sneak in a good wank at night. Roxy's kept the bed beside his, but the bed on his other side is empty, Charlie sleeping across the aisle and a few down. Now that he doesn't have to watch Roxy's hair as he jerks off to avoid watching Digby's, Eggsy finds himself facing the other direction, facing the mirror. 

_“You come here and you whisper it in my ear,”_ is one hell of a directive, and Eggsy couldn't help the stab of lust he felt right there on the lawn as Merlin stared him down, a stab that's been curling around his spine all fucking day, just waiting for a quiet moment so he could take care of business without the threat of being watched. 

Compounded by the adrenaline still sloshing through his system after landing without deploying his 'chute, it's all Eggsy can do to keep from shoving his hand down his trousers before the others go to sleep, consequences be damned. But the thought of Charlie watching him wank is enough to keep his hands above the blanket, enough to keep him from squirming _too_ much, enough to keep him still and feigning sleep until he hears Charlie start that whistling snore that's almost as obnoxious as the rest of his personality. 

He knows it'll be a fast night tonight, and he's fine with that. 

Thinking about Merlin grabbing for something else out there on the lawn gets his cock hard in seconds flat, just the idea of those big hands cupping his dick through his jump suit as Merlin growls in his ear enough to make him want to break his self-imposed vow of silence. If there's any image that warrants a whimper, it's Merlin's hand squeezing his balls as he threatens him out there on the front lawn where anyone might see. 

He doesn't whimper, but he does let out a choked gasp, a gasp that shifts from aroused to surprised when he sees a flicker of light from the other side of the mirror. It's dark in the dorms, dark enough that any light from the other side could be seen, and Eggsy would put money on the fact that he saw _something_ on the other side of that glass. 

He freezes for a moment, his heart in his throat, his pulse pounding loud in his ears, a rabbit caught by a fox, torn between turned on and terrified. 

And then the thought that it could be Merlin crashes into him, and the terrified part of him evaporates in an instant, and all Eggsy is now is turned on. 

Staring at the mirror, straining to see anything, Eggsy lets his hand start to move again, dragging his hand slowly up the length of his cock, twisting his wrist, rubbing his palm over the crown and smearing the pre-come the drools out of his cock all down his shaft like he's putting on a show. He's still got his blanket covering himself, and he's still curled up on his side, but his eyes don't move from the mirror. He's watching when there's another flicker of light behind the glass, a brief there-and-gone flash that he's pretty sure illuminates a severe countenance, the reflection from a pair of glasses winking at him for a split-second before it's all dark again. 

It could be anybody. All the Kingsmen wear glasses, he knows that from knowing Harry. 

But somehow, without knowing how, he _knows_ it's Merlin. 

Slowly, so he doesn't disturb Roxy sleeping beside him, he shifts onto his back, the blanket draped over him doing absolutely nothing to hide what he's doing anymore, shifting easily as he drags his hand up the hard length of his cock, a bulge that swells and ebbs like a heartbeat. 

There's no more flashes of light for him to stare at, but he's convinced that Merlin hasn't left yet, which means he can still put on a good show. Before he has time to convince himself not to, Eggsy uses his free hand to push the blanket down, shoving at it until it pools below his hips, his cock jutting up into the cold air of the room with nothing to cover it any longer. Switching from his right hand to his left, Eggsy keeps his head turned to stare at the glass as he slowly goes back to his wank, sliding his foreskin along the shaft of his cock before sliding it back down again, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips. 

By the time he's close to coming, he's digging his heels into the mattress to brace himself as his hips twist, lifting to meet his hand as he jerks off, his free hand stuffed down his bottoms to cup his balls, the elastic waist digging into his wrist. He's started having to breathe through his mouth in harsh little half-pants, tiny hitches of breath that are deafening in his ear but hopefully nowhere near as loud to anyone else. 

Neither of his companions have stirred, thankfully, which means he's probably in the clear. 

He can't really bring himself to care right now, because right now his toes are curling and his balls are drawing up high and tight, and he thinks he sees another glint of light behind the two-way mirror as his orgasm slams into him with all the subtlety of a freight train. His back bowing, Eggsy finally closes his eyes, screwing up his face as he fights to keep from moaning like the exhibitionist slut he feels at the moment, hot come splashing up his chest as his cock jerks in his fist. There's a roaring in his ears and a buzzing in his veins, and for a few blissful moments, absolutely nothing matters. 

And then he slowly comes back to himself and realizes just how sweaty he feels, what a mess he's made of his sheets, the fact that he's managed to splash spunk almost up to his _neck_. It's hard to care, though, because he finally feels loose and languid, the itch that's been sparking beneath his skin all day finally sated, and he slumps back against his bed with a low, pleased hum. 

He can't help letting his head loll to the side to look at the mirror again, a self-satisfied smile curling his lips. Briefly, he thinks about how stupid he'd feel if there was nobody behind the glass, but that thought leads to thoughts about someone other than Merlin being behind the glass, so he shuts that down quickly. 

Instead of thinking about that, he forces his thoughts back to Merlin again, a topic that has his dick stirring weakly against his stomach to mark its approval of the new subject matter. Or not so new, really, since he's been thinking about him all fucking night. He lets himself wallow in familiar thoughts about Merlin watching, the edges of his fantasies smooth as river rock now, revisited enough times to be worn and familiar and just as comfortable as his favorite pair of jeans. 

When he's feeling more like his body will respond to the impulses he's sending, Eggsy forces himself to stand, creaking to his feet and tucking his dick away. The come on his chest has started to cool, feeling gross and sticky, and he knows if he doesn't clean himself off soon, he's going to have a bitch of a time getting it out of his chest hair. But instead of going straight to the sinks so he can sluice himself off, he finds himself walking straight up to the mirror, stopping only when he's close enough that his breath fogs the glass. 

“I know you're there,” he whispers, some small part of himself astounded that he's making such an ass of himself in the middle of the night when it's highly likely that there is, in fact, nobody there at all. “Watchin' me.” He can just barely see his own smile curl in the reflection of the mirror, and hell, he's gone this far, he might as well go all the way. “Did you wank along with me, Merlin? I hope you did. I wanna see your cock someday. Wanna see if you can still keep that scowl on your face when I got your cock in my mouth.” He shivers, his nipples pebbling with an impotent sort of arousal at the thought of kneeling for Merlin and rubbing his face into the crease of his thigh. “I bet you can. You're so good at it, it's fuckin' awful. 'M starting to get hard just lookin' at you frown, d'you know how inconvenient that is? You scowl at us all the time 'n' all I wanna do is drop to my knees 'n' suck you.” 

He's probably imagining it, but he thinks he sees a shift of shadows somehow behind the glass, and he doesn't stop his smirk from widening, nor does he stop the impulse to lick his lips, his hand drifting down to idly palm himself. “I wanna take you apart, see how rumpled I can getcha. Wanna taste you in the back of my throat for hours after.” 

His poor cock tries valiantly to rise to the occasion again, his refractory period giving a good go at rallying in the face of Eggsy's fantasy, but he forces himself to tamp it down. 

Licking his lips again, he winks at the glass, really fucking hoping it's Merlin behind there. “Have a good night, Merlin.” 

Turning away from the mirror is one of the strangely hardest things he's had to do, and he's sure it's not just cooling sweat that prickles along his back as he washes his hands and his chest before creeping back to bed. His sheets are damp with sweat, and JB has managed to make himself comfortable in the dead center of his bed again in his absence, but Eggsy can't even be mad about it. 

He expects to lie awake for hours thinking about what just happened, but somehow, between one breath and the next, he passes out, a smile still curling his lips. 

 

In the harsh light of day, his little show feels ill-advised, the hushed dirty-talk even more so. He spends most of the morning paranoid that Roxy and Charlie know what he did, but both of them treat him the same way they always do, so that appears to be a moot point. He almost manages to forget about it, but then comes their eleven am Romance Language class with Merlin, and the memory of his whispered confession comes slamming back into him, leaving Eggsy standing horrified in the corridor. 

_Did he seriously proposition Merlin through a two-way mirror with come on his chest?_

He spends the whole lesson vacillating wildly between staring intently at Merlin's face to see if there's any hint that he actually did witness Eggsy's display, and avoiding his eyes at all costs just in case he _did._

The hour and a half lesson seems to go by at a glacial pace, but somehow he manages to survive it, and the moment Merlin tells them they can go, he's up and out of his seat like a shot. 

“Eggsy, a word if you please,” comes Merlin's voice, mild-mannered as you please, and Eggsy almost groans aloud, his heart plummeting to his feet. 

He's too much of a coward to bolt anyway, so he reluctantly stays behind, unable to meet Merlin's eyes as he stands there before him, silent. He's so silent, in fact, that Eggsy finally wrenches his eyes up to make sure Merlin's actually _looking_ at him, and to Eggsy's dismay, he is. 

“Yes, sir?” he forces himself to ask, squaring his shoulders and fighting down the urge to scream and run away. 

Merlin continues to stare at him silently, waiting until the sound of Roxy and Charlie bickering as they go to lunch fades into silence. He then removes his glasses and looks down, wiping them on the hem of his sweater for a moment, before abruptly turning that piercing stare back to Eggsy's face. “Do you know the capabilities of these glasses, Eggsy?” 

Eggsy forces himself to shake his head. “Nah, guv, I ain't never worn a pair.” 

Merlin hums, and slides his glasses back on his face. “I designed them myself. They're really quite remarkable. They even have a night vision setting.” 

Eggsy's eyes widen comically. “N-night vision, sir?” 

Merlin hums again, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly even though the rest of his face remains impassive. “Yes, I realized very early that there's all sorts of things going on in the dark that warrant attention, and it really wouldn't do to have to monitor a situation blind.” 

Eggsy nods, biting his tongue to keep from blurting out anything stupid, hoping against hope that Merlin will either let him go to lunch or will mercifully put him out of his misery. 

He doesn't appear to be inclined to do either. What he does is take a half step closer and lean in the way he had the day before, his voice lowering again, although this time there's no barely-suppressed fury in it. “You require quite a lot of monitoring, Eggsy.” 

He lets out a strangled squeak despite himself, fighting against a shiver as Merlin's hot breath washes down the side of his neck. “S-sir?” 

“I think you forget that mirror isn't the only way to monitor the dormitory.” 

_Of course._ There's a running joke that Merlin has eyes in every corner of the building, a rumor that's more or less true, thanks to the number of security cameras that are installed in every corridor. It makes sense that there'd be cameras in the dorms, even if he couldn't see them. Eggsy thinks about every night he's jerked off before bed over the months he's been here. 

He jerks his head back enough to see Merlin's face, his cheeks slowly growing pink. “You been watchin' me all this time?” 

Merlin doesn't smile, but he does nod shallowly, something cautious in his eyes that Eggsy realizes he can only see because he's so goddamn close to the man. “You make it difficult not to,” he murmurs lowly, that same caution threading through his voice. 

Abruptly, Eggsy realizes that Merlin might be as nervous as he is. It's one thing to get off on the _idea_ of being watched, and something completely different to know that someone _has_ been watching you, and the fact that Merlin is both aware of this fact and considerate of Eggsy's reaction has some of the terror that's been tightening around his ribcage loosening. 

“Yeah?” he asks, hope bubbling up in his chest, a smile starting to curl his lips. 

Merlin hums again, his expression softening even more, and he starts to straighten. 

That just won't do. 

“Oh no you don't,” he mutters, and reaches out to snag his fingers in the soft wool of Merlin's sweater, hauling him back down to Eggsy's level. “I been dyin' to kiss you for months.” 

Merlin has just enough time to brace a hand on Eggsy's shoulder and open his mouth to reply before Eggsy cuts him off by smashing their mouths together, uncoordinated in his eagerness, desperate to get anything he can from this situation before it's wrenched from his grasp. The kiss is hard and messy, all teeth and awkward swipes of the tongue, but then Merlin gets his wits together again, and suddenly it's _awesome_ , the man's huge hands sliding down Eggsy's sides to grip his hips, his head tilting, that goddamn hum that's featured so prominently in Eggsy's fantasies buzzing against his lips. 

Eggsy has to pull away to moan, and Merlin takes the opportunity to laugh. Eggsy can't even be mad he's being laughed at, because those hands are gripping his hips, tight enough to bruise even through his boiler suit, and he feels like he's getting everything he's ever wanted. Merlin _had_ been watching him, Merlin _isn't_ disgusted, Merlin _does_ want him in return. It's a heady feeling. He's seconds away from giggling. 

“This door locks, right?” he asks, unclenching his fingers from Merlin's sweater so he can greedily slide his hands up the man's chest, groping as he goes. 

“Yes,” Merlin replies slowly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Eggsy grins. “Good.” He's loath to remove himself from Merlin's grip, but he's got a mission now, and so he wrenches himself away, all but dashing to the door the slam it shut and engage the lock. “You might wanna sit down, guv,” he boasts as he turns back to Merlin, who looks incredibly amused at the turn this conversation has taken. 

He doesn't say anything, though, just moves to sit down behind the desk at the front of the room again, twisting the chair around so that there's plenty of room for Eggsy to come up in front of him and slide down to his knees. 

“I believe I promised you a blowjob,” he murmurs, his hands settling on Merlin's splayed knees, fighting against the need to tremble with anticipation. 

“You promised me quite a lot of things,” is Merlin's amused reply. Eggsy would protest that, but there's a hand cupping the side of his face, Merlin's thumb sweeping over his cheek to press against his lips. It takes no thought at all to part them and let his tongue dart out to lick the pad of Merlin's thumb, an action he repeats when Merlin's breath hitches. He stares down at him, the hand on Eggsy's face holding him still, and despite the fact he wants to wrench his face away so he can get down to business, he restrains himself.

Eggsy's hands flex on Merlin's thighs, and he lets himself scoot a tiny bit closer. “Let me suck you, sir. I'll make it good, I promise.” 

Merlin stares at him a moment longer, then lets his hand fall away, his arms settling on the arm rests of his chair. “Go on, then.” 

Grinning, Eggsy dives for the man's fly. “Sir, yes sir.” 

He spares a moment later to wonder, as his jaw starts to ache, if there are cameras in this room, if they're recording this, and whether or not Merlin will let him watch them later. Then Merlin's hand settles in his hair and tugs, and he stops thinking about anything.


	2. Chapter 2

Eggsy isn't used to getting what he wants. There was a time in his life, he's sure, when he was spoiled and indulged and given anything he asked for, but that time was nothing but a hazy dream to him now. He's grown so used to subsuming his desires and setting his expectations as low as they can possibly go so that he won't be disappointed, that he's forgotten what it feels like to be handed the very thing he's been desiring. 

It's been two weeks since Merlin let him sink to his knees for him in their French classroom, and Eggsy's honestly not sure how much more of this he can take. 

There's a small basket in Merlin's office with a pillow and a blanket in it; Eggsy always assumed it was for nights when Merlin wound up kipping on the couch instead of going home, either because he was running a mission that required him to be on hand at all times, or because he got too wrapped up in his work and forgot all about what a healthy work-life balance meant. 

Eggsy's pretty sure that pillow has more or less become his, so that he won't hurt his knees as he sucks Merlin's cock beneath his desk. 

Earlier, Merlin had dropped the pillow down on the floor between his knees and nudged it further beneath the desk with his toes, arching his eyebrows at Eggsy without saying a word, an obvious order that Eggsy knew better than to ignore. 

He couldn't help laughing, but that didn't stop him from sinking to the floor immediately and crawling under the heavy oak and steel desk that dominates Merlin's office. It had been a tight fit, crouching there in the footwell, especially when Merlin had turned back and pulled himself back into position, but Eggsy wasn't flexible for nothing. He waited until Merlin settled, those long legs bracketing him in the dark little cavern the desk made, and then he twisted and shifted until he could get comfortable. 

Merlin was still mostly soft when Eggsy had pulled him out from the placket of his charcoal trousers, but that didn't bother him at all. He's discovered that he likes feeling Merlin thicken up on his tongue, likes mouthing at the tender head of his cock as it slowly plumps up for him. It makes him feel...wanted, in a way that a fully-hard cock springing out to slap him in the face never has. Not that he doesn't like that too, but there was something about the vulnerability of a soft cock that tugged on his heartstrings, almost.

Merlin's hand sifting through his hair was as good a signal to get going as any. His hands sliding around Merlin's thighs, Eggsy drew him into his mouth, tonguing along the length of him as he suckled gently, unable to stop the soft sighing hum that slid up his throat at the now-familiar taste of Merlin's skin. 

Eggsy likes to take his time with this part, which was why he didn't rush, allowing himself time to enjoy what he was doing. He was so focused on drawing the whole of Merlin's length into his mouth — something he had trouble with when Merlin was fully-hard; Eggsy's not necessarily a connoisseur of cocks or anything, but Merlin is hands down the biggest he's ever seen, and it's honestly a little intimidating — that he barely heard the knock on the door that broke through their quiet little cocoon. He did hear, however, Merlin's quiet _“Come in,”_. 

The hand curled around the back of his head stopped him from pulling off in his surprise, Merlin's inescapable grip keeping him right where he was, with his lips stretched wide and his nose bumping against Merlin's belt. 

It took everything he had to keep from moaning, his hands tightening on Merlin's thighs, digging his fingers into the hard muscle hidden under the smooth fabric beneath his palm. He couldn't stop his eager trembling if he tried, though, adrenaline springing up in his veins at the thought of there only being a thin panel of wood between him and discovery. 

“Ah, yes. What can I do for you, Bors?” came Merlin's voice, sounding for all the world like he definitely didn't have a trainee beneath his desk, deepthroating his rapidly hardening cock. 

“It's my glasses,” replied a voice Eggsy didn't recognize. He hasn't had the chance to meet most of the agents; none of the trainees had, probably a security measure so that in case they wiped out, they weren't able to go around identifying the Kingsmen to anyone who might ask. Honestly, it just made it better. The thought of this faceless man knowing what he was doing had Eggsy's cock jumping to attention, pressing uncomfortably against the fly of his boiler suit. 

“What about them?” Merlin's hand withdrew from Eggsy's hair, fingertips stroking gently over his cheek for a moment before disappearing entirely. Eggsy assumed he was reaching for Bors' glasses. 

Bors must have replied, Eggsy heard their voices murmuring to each other, but all he could focus on was the hardening flesh in his mouth. He'd kept still since the knock on the door, too afraid to risk moving, but since Merlin had encouraged him to stay where he was, Eggsy decided he was going to make this as good as he could. So, scooting just a tiny bit closer to Merlin's chair, he set to giving his handler the best goddamn blowjob he'd ever given in his life. 

Fully-erect, Merlin's cock is beautiful. Big, but beautiful. Eggsy's grown very fond of it, for all that their acquaintance has been brief, and he made an effort to convey that as best he could through the attention he gave it. Little kitten licks at the head, wet kisses along the shaft, wiggling his tongue down beneath the fabric that hid Merlin's bollocks from view, and rubbing his cheek along the length before drawing it back into his mouth, he used any trick he had in his arsenal to try to please Merlin, desperate to hear him moan for him, or perhaps to get another quiet _“Well done, Eggsy,”_ that were so rarely doled out. 

Eggsy hasn't had many adults in his life that he'd give his all to please, and it's a new experience that honestly leaves him a little wrong-footed. He would never have guessed that earning Merlin's approval would wind up meaning more to him than sticking it to the other posh arseholes he's competing against. (Roxy being the exception. He's still competing against her, but she's an alright bird. He thinks they could be friends, real friends, someday.) 

Lost in what he was doing, Eggsy didn't even notice when Bors left, shutting the door carefully behind them. The only indication that they were alone was when Merlin's hand appeared in his hair again, those long fingers sliding through the mussed strands to grab hold and start to move Eggsy how Merlin pleased. 

Eggsy immediately gave up fighting him, instead focusing on opening his throat and suppressing his gag reflex, his hands resting loosely on Merlin's thighs as he let his throat be fucked. 

Merlin has never been very loud when they've fucked, but he made no effort to muffle the groan that rattled all the way down his body when he finally reached climax and held Eggsy down so he could come down his throat. Thrilled with the progression of events, Eggsy swallowed as much as he could, fighting against the urge to cough when his body tried to rebel against the intrusion of Merlin's dick in his throat. 

Finally, Merlin pulled back, allowing Eggsy to come up for air, gasping and moaning weakly as he rested his cheek against the inside of Merlin's thigh, catching his breath and letting the buzzing feeling in his body leech out of his pores. 

“Alright, lad?” came Merlin's rumbling voice, and Eggsy mewled in protest when the leg he was pillowing his head on shifted away. But then Merlin's hands appeared beneath the desk and hauled him back up into the light, and now Eggsy finds himself curled up in Merlin's lap, his head pressed into the curve of his neck, feeling his handler's pulse thunder beneath his skin. 

Eggsy grins weakly and hums, fighting the urge to squirm. He's still hard as a rock, but he's feeling a little overwhelmed still, and so he doesn't make any move to wiggle out of Merlin's arms. 

Especially not when Merlin rubs his back like that, one broad palm cupping the back of his head and the other smoothing circles against his spine. 

“You were so good,” Merlin continues, cooing into Eggsy's hairline. “So good, taking my cock like that. Not even a peep, I couldn't believe it. What a good boy.” 

Eggsy flushes then, deep red as a fresh wave of heat washes over him, and he can't help shivering, a needy little whine catching in his throat. 

Merlin's hands pause for a moment, and then slowly pick back up again. “My beautiful boy,” he murmurs, his voice low and tender in a way Eggsy isn't used to. He feels like maybe he should be more freaked out by how much he likes it, but he can't think about that right now, can only think about wanting to hear Merlin call him a _good boy_ again. 

“P-please,” he gasps out, not quite sure what he's asking for. 

Merlin's hand slides down to the back of his neck and squeezes gently, the hand he had on his back settling on his hip instead as Merlin shifts him in his lap. “Yes, Eggsy?” 

He tries not to whine when Merlin calls him by name, but he can't help shaking his head a little, struggling to sit up. “Please, sir, I'm...” 

“Ah, of course.” 

And he doesn't even have to struggle to speak any longer, because Merlin knows just what he needs. Before he really knows what's happening, Eggsy finds himself splayed out in Merlin's lap, his legs hooked around Merlin's knees to keep them open, one of Merlin's hands cleverly undoing the front of his checkered boiler suit just enough that he can slide his hand inside and palm Eggsy's erection. 

He shouts, bucking up into the pressure against his cock, but Merlin's arm is a band of steel around his chest and the hand in his trousers is inexorable, long fingers squeezing and rubbing just the right way to make Eggsy squirm and whine but not hard enough to make him come. 

“Merlin!” 

Merlin shushes him, the bastard, pressing a little kiss to Eggsy's temple as his head lolls back against his shoulder. “Shh, my boy, let me take care of you now.” 

That's all Eggsy's ever wanted, to be honest, but Merlin's idea of taking care of him feels a lot more like teasing than he'd like, and he's so desperate to come he feels like he's going to explode. 

“Merlin, _please._ ” 

Eggsy almost sobs with relief when Merlin seems to take pity on him and slides his fingers into the slit of Eggsy's boxers, his hand curling around his weeping cock. Once he gets a good grip, all the teasing is gone, and Merlin works him over with the sort of ruthless efficiency that he's best known for. Eggsy feels like he could weep with relief, and he does wind up sobbing against Merlin's jaw, babbling things he can't even remember consciously saying as strong fingers bring him up to the brink and then shove him right over. 

He vaguely registers Merlin withdrawing his hand and using a handkerchief to wipe himself clean, but all Eggsy can do is tremble in Merlin's lap, whimpering quietly under his breath as he tries to get a hold of himself again. 

“There,” Merlin purrs, when Eggsy's stopped panting and the handkerchief has disappeared somewhere. “That wasn't so bad, was it?” 

Eggsy shivers. When he can form coherent sentences again, there's only one thing on his mind, and it's not answering the question that Merlin obviously knew the answer to. Instead, he asks, “Merlin, who the fuck is Bors?” 

He can feel Merlin's laugh rumble right through his back, and he shivers a little again at how good it feels. “Does it matter?” 

He thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs and shakes his head. “Nah,” he admits, twisting in Merlin's grip, struggling until Merlin's arms loosen and he can spin around somewhat so that he's sitting up more of his own volition and can look his handler in the face. “D'you think he knew?” 

Merlin lifts a hand to smooth his knuckles across Eggsy's cheeks, wiping away moisture Eggsy didn't even realize was there. Had he actually _cried?_

“Maybe.” He seems unconcerned with this knowledge, and uses the hand he has lifted to smooth down Eggsy's hair next. “Does that bother you?” 

Eggsy shakes his head, licking his lips and thinking back to how fucking turned on he was, crouched beneath Merlin's desk with his cock in his mouth, knowing that there was an incredibly high probability of being discovered if he made any sound at all. 

Merlin's grin can only be described as shark-like. “That's what I thought.” 

Embarrassed, Eggsy ducks his head down and hides against Merlin's shoulder, pleased when he feels Merlin's arms slide around him again to hold him close. If you'd told him not a month ago that he'd wind up curled up in Merlin's lap and _liking it_ , he'd have laughed. Now he'd punch anyone who disturbed them in the throat for ruining his opportunity for cuddles. 

A thought occurs to him. “Merlin?” 

One of Merlin's hums rumbles beneath his ear. 

“This room has cameras too, right?” 

There's a brief pause, then Merlin starts to laugh again. “Aye, lad, there's cameras here too.” 

Eggsy hides his grin against Merlin's collar. “I wanna see 'em, okay?” 

Merlin's still laughing when he agrees. “Whatever you want.”

Pleased with himself and the world at large, Eggsy curls his fingers in the shoulder of Merlin's jumper and closes his eyes, determined to milk this moment for all it's worth, sighing happily as Merlin goes back to rubbing his back with broad, firm strokes. 

He's not used to getting everything he wants, but fuck, he's pretty sure he can get used to it fast.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter differs wildly from the others in both tone and warnings. I waffled about including it in this fic at all, since it's a bit of a departure from chapters one and two, but it is the same story line, and I don't want to have to think of a new title, so here goes! 
> 
> WARNINGS: mild suicidal ideation, horrible coping mechanisms, very bad injury etiquette.

If asked, Eggsy honestly doesn’t think he’d be able to say just how long it’s been since he last slept. He’s pretty sure it’s been less than a day, but what with the hopping time zones and the whole _end of the world_ bullshit that’s gone on, he has no idea what time it is, let alone what day of the _week._

His whole body aches, one massive bruise courtesy of all the bullets he’s deflected, his suit saving him from any actual injuries but not giving him any cushioning at all. It’s possible his ribs are cracked. He can’t be sure, since he categorically refuses to go down to Medical and let them poke at him, not trusting himself to be able to keep it together if he has to sit down on a hospital bed and let a nurse take his temperature while they both try to avoid talking about the carnage they’ve all witnessed. 

He feels numb. 

Actually, he feels _dazed_ , like he’s pulled an all-nighter playing Call of Duty with Ryan and Jamal, his brain sloshing around in his skull and his body feeling detached from his mind, reality a distant concept that he’s struggling to reconcile with the sound of gunfire still ringing in his ears and the adrenaline hangover that’s sluggishly seeping through his veins. 

He should try and contact them, make sure they’re okay. He’s afraid to, though. They might not be okay. They might be _dead._ They might have killed each other, torn each other apart limb from limb, using whatever they had at hand to destroy their closest friend. Eggsy tries not to think about Jamal and his stint working in Nando’s, the skills he’d learned with a kitchen knife that he so proudly showed off what feels like years and years ago but was really less than nine months ago. Who knows what he might have done to Ryan if he’d been given the opportunity and had no control over his body. 

He should call them. 

He’s not going to. 

(Even if he tries, he knows he won’t get through. They both have Valentine SIM cards, so their phones are dead, even if they themselves managed to survive.) 

Attempting to escape his thoughts, Eggsy goes walking. 

The mansion is eerily silent. It’s not exactly bustling at the best of times, but he can usually hear the murmur of voices down the hall, or some sort of machinery working, music seeping out from under a closed door. Today the only sound he can hear is muffled sobbing. If he felt more in his body, he might try to comfort whoever is so upset, but his feet keep moving without conscious direction from his brain, and he finds himself climbing the back stairs up to the rooftop. 

Idly, he thinks about throwing himself off the ramparts once he makes it up to the roof and feels the cool air caress his face. He doesn’t _want_ to, but intrusive thoughts are strange like that, and suddenly all he can think about is what would happen if he just took a few steps and flung himself over the edge of the roof. The suit wouldn’t protect him from _that._ But then again, he’s only about five stories up. The odds of a fatal fall are too low from this height for it to be a safe plan of action. It’s possible he would only maim himself, and then he’d be in worse shape than he is now. It’s just that the cool air feels so nice on his overheated skin as he stands still. It would probably feel even better falling at terminal velocity.

He stands and stares at the railing, feeling very distant from his body, turning the thought of jumping over and over in his mind even though he knows he’s not going to do it. 

The smell of cigarette smoke pulls him from his reverie. 

It turns out it’s Merlin, a dozen yards away, tucked behind some sort of ventilation intake, the cleverly hidden steel shaft making an excellent buffer from the misting rain and any prying eyes. Unfortunately, the sullenly-glowing end of his cigarette has given the game away, not that Merlin seems to care very much. 

“Smoking’s a filthy habit,” Eggsy finds himself saying, hobbling over to where Merlin stands, leaning on the railing and not turning his head to watch Eggsy approach. 

Merlin is silent for a long time, long enough that Eggsy thinks he’s just going to continue to ignore him, and then he grunts. “I don’t smoke,” he replies, in direct contradiction to the way he lifts the cigarette to his mouth and takes a drag, the cherry end glowing between his fingers. 

Eggsy doesn’t know what to do. Should he stay? Should he leave? 

He wants to stay, if only because his body aches and he wants to stop walking, but he’s not sure his presence is welcome. Just because they’ve been shagging on and off for a few months doesn’t mean Merlin wants him privy to quiet moments like these, he’s sure. He’s just about to turn and apologize for interrupting when Merlin holds the cigarette out to him in invitation. 

His hands are trembling. Eggsy’s pretty sure it’s not from the cold. 

“Ta,” he murmurs, taking the cigarette and sucking a lungful of smoke out of it, even though he hasn’t smoked since he was sixteen and is well out of practice. 

It shouldn’t feel so intimate to share a cigarette with a man whose cock you’ve had in your mouth often enough that you’ve lost count of all the times it’s happened, but somehow, Eggsy is stuck on the idea that his lips are touching the filter where Merlin’s had been just moments before. It’s such a small, insignificant detail, but it suddenly feels so monumental. 

He hands the cigarette back. 

“Merlin—” he starts, only for Merlin to interrupt. 

“Hamish,” he says, the cigarette dangling from his lips.

Eggsy’s response is eloquent. “...Huh?” he asks, thrown. 

“My name. Is Hamish.” 

Eggsy doesn’t know what to do with that. If this were any other day, he’d probably gleefully take the piss out of the man for having such a ridiculously _Scottish_ name, asking him if he parents named him after a wooly Highland cow or something, if he was born wearing tartan nappies, the like. As it stands, he just stares at Merlin for a few seconds before nodding. 

“Right, uh. Hamish, then.” He’s forgotten what he was going to say. 

Merlin doesn’t seem to mind. He lets the silence draw on between them for a few long heartbeats before taking another drag from the cigarette. 

“Everyone calls me Merlin, but Harry still calls me Hamish.” _Calls_ , present tense. Eggsy feels a lump rise in his throat. “Daft bastard always had a thing about Christian names,” Merlin continues in a low mutter, staring down at his hand holding the stubby cigarette, the ember nearly down to the filter now. He looks up to meet Eggsy’s gaze, something off about the cast of his face, the redness of his eyes. “Did you know his name is actually Harold? … _Was_ Harold,” he corrects himself abruptly, and Eggsy can see the precise moment he finally cracks. 

_Fuck._

“Ey, guv, c’mere,” he murmurs quietly, automatically slipping into the same soothing tone of voice he’d use to calm Daisy after she’d started wailing, reaching out to snatch the cigarette from Merlin’s suddenly limp fingers and crushing it beneath his toe so they don’t accidentally light each other on fire. 

Secretly, he’s grateful Merlin is the one to break down first, because it lets him keep his focus firmly shifted _away_ from the great big sucking wound in his chest that he hasn’t even remotely started to acknowledge yet. 

Merlin’s got his head in his hands, having sunk down to sit on the edge of the ledge, and his shoulders are shaking. Eggsy can’t tell if he’s crying or not, or if he’s just trembling the way his hands were earlier. Whatever he’s doing, Eggsy can sympathize. He takes a step closer and settles his hand carefully on one of Merlin’s broad shoulders, the epaulettes from his pilot’s jacket feeling strange beneath his fingers. He’s so used to Merlin wearing knitted jumpers, his sharp edges softened by the slightly-scratchy wool, that seeing him in a bespoke suit is still jarring. It _looks_ jarring too, for all that he’d definitely appreciated the sight of him in it earlier. Merlin isn’t supposed to wear a suit. He’s not supposed to go out in the field. He’s supposed to stay at home, behind his computers, safe and omnipotent like a god, untouched by the ugly realities of the job. 

He’s not supposed to sob into his palms on the rooftop in the rain, with only a failed candidate for company.

Eggsy takes another step closer, fitting himself in between Merlin’s knees, and settles his other hand on the curve of the man’s skull, careful fingers stroking over the stubble that’s started to crop up along the back of his head. It’s been over a day, then, if Merlin hasn’t had time to shave. 

Merlin is silent except for his hitched breathing, so Eggsy does the talking for him, murmuring nonsense he doesn’t even register as words as he carefully strokes his hand across the back of Merlin’s head and down his neck, gently pulling him closer so that the man can hide his face against Eggsy’s stomach. Merlin does just that, pressing himself hard against Eggsy’s middle, ignorant of the way the pressure makes all his bruises flare, not that Eggsy would ever tell him that. Instead, Eggsy reaches in to pluck Merlin’s glasses off his face, tucking them away in his breast pocket where they can keep his pair company. This is not a moment that needs to be recorded and saved on any hard drives.

The rain is cold and clammy, hardly a proper rain at all, but the mist of it blankets the countryside around them, muffles any noise that might drift up to the roof, makes it feel like they’re stuck in some sort of limbo where time has no meaning and there are no pressing demands on them. He’s grateful for it, in a way, for the way it obscures whether it’s morning or evening, for the cool spray against his face, a sharp contrast to the searing hot heat of Merlin’s breath against his stomach. 

It makes none of this feel really real, gives him tacit permission to act in a way he normally would never allow himself. 

Eggsy wonders if maybe growing up with televisions and computer games has somehow dulled his empathy. He’d watched Harry’s death as it happened, first-person-shooter style, and yet it’s the thing that feels the least real of all. Far more unreal than it apparently does to Merlin, who’s still shaking in Eggsy’s arms, his fingertips pressing sharply into his back under his suit jacket right above his kidneys, sending a wave of agony shooting down his spine that he ignores in favor of holding his mentor and focusing on his breathing. 

He can’t stop thinking about Harry’s death now that he’s brought it back to the forefront of his mind. Does it seem so unreal _because_ he’d watched it on a screen? 

He’d killed all those guards, too. Their deaths don’t seem real either, and there was no screen involved in that frantic blur. He can’t even remember any of their faces. Surely they had families, lives outside of their work, and he’d just killed them all, without remorse, without _thought._

And all those poor bastards whose heads they exploded...

Eggsy has a feeling he’ll start to feel the reality of the situation all too well in the coming days, and he’s grateful for the momentary numbness what he assumes is shock is giving him.

The in-house therapist Kingsman employs suddenly makes a lot more sense. She’s going to be very busy, soon.

He strokes his thumb over the curve of Merlin’s ear, forcibly turning his attention to the man in his arms, and lets out a careful sigh, pleased when it doesn’t jostle any of his ribs. “It’s alright, babe,” he murmurs, even though he knows it’s _not_ alright, and Merlin is not his _babe._ It’s what his mum always used to say to him when he ran crying into her arms, and now it’s all that he knows to say in fucked up situations like this. “It’ll be alright soon. Just let it out, that’s it. You’ll be alright.” 

Merlin’s hands creep higher up his back beneath his jacket, broad and _hot_ in contrast to the cool air swirling around them, curling over the wings of his shoulder blades and tugging so Eggsy has to bend his spine. He does, folding his arms more tightly around Merlin’s shoulders, curling over him like he can protect him somehow, now that all’s said and done and there’s nothing anybody can do but just grit their teeth and carry on.

If he could protect Merlin from the horrible hitching breaths that rattle through his lungs, partially muffled by the way his face is pressed into Eggsy’s stomach, he would in a heartbeat. 

Merlin cries like a man who hasn’t allowed himself any catharsis for decades. It’s probably true, he seems the type to bottle up inconvenient emotions and push them away to be ignored, a skill which undoubtedly serves him well in the middle of running a mission, but is a terrible way to actually deal with your problems. Eggsy might feel the urge to say something about it, but he’s not a hypocrite, thanks, and he knows full well what it feels like to take every hurt, aching, bleeding part of yourself and shove it down so forcefully you can pretend it was never there to begin with. He managed to get through ten years of living with Dean by locking away all the wounded parts of his soul. Ten years seems like nothing compared to what he suspects Merlin’s been dealing with.

His legs give out after an indeterminate amount of time, the muscles simply incapable of keeping him upright any longer, his joints throwing in the towel and crumpling. It leaves him leaning oddly against Merlin, half-in and half-out of his lap, still hunched over him awkwardly with most of his weight resting on one of the man’s thighs. 

Dimly, Eggsy’s brain pulls up a slideshow of all the other times he’s sat in Merlin’s lap. They were much more pleasant than this one, even the ones that also involved tears. 

Still, there’s an undeniable intimacy to this moment, and if he tried to put what he’s feeling into words, he might say that he’s _honored_ by the way Merlin is letting him be an audience to this intensely personal moment for him, even if it’s not a conscious decision on his part. Merlin presents such an untouchable facade to the world, it’s hard to imagine him being the type of person who _needs_ someone else. Eggsy’s let himself take advantage of that before, trusting Merlin to pick him up when he falls, to look after him in the field, to make sure that he gets exactly what he needs. 

It’s… _nice_ to be that for Merlin for a change, even in the midst of this ridiculously fucked-up situation. 

Somehow, he slithers into a more comfortable perch, Merlin’s head shifting to his shoulder, Eggsy’s arms still draped around him and cradling him close. Merlin’s shuddering breaths have steadied, and the hothot _hot_ hands on his back are no longer clutching at him with a ferocious intensity, slowly starting to slide over rumpled cotton in a soothingly random pattern.

Eggsy sighs with appreciation, resting his cheek against the side of Merlin’s head. 

“‘M so fuckin’ sorry, guv,” he whispers into the shell of Merlin’s ear, not at all what he had planned to say when he opened his mouth, but it’s too late to take the sentiment back, and besides. It’s true. 

Merlin barks out a wet laugh and finally lifts his head, forcing Eggsy to straighten as he looks at his handler. He looks a complete fucking mess, stress and grief deepening the lines in his face, carving them mercilessly into his skin where they catch the shadows and draw attention to themselves in a way that feels strangely deliberate and mocking. His eyes are bloodshot, red-rimmed, wet. His nose is a little red too. It’s not a good look, honestly. 

Eggsy feels something in his chest give out that has nothing to do with his probably-cracked ribs. 

“ _Fuck_ , Merlin.” 

It’s probably inappropriate to kiss the man after all that they’ve done today, but Eggsy _likes_ kissing Merlin, and even looking like death warmed over, Merlin is eminently kissable. Besides, _inappropriate_ has somewhat lost its meaning between them. 

He leans in to indulge himself without conscious thought, sliding his mouth against Merlin’s and not even caring that he’s all hot and swollen from crying, his mouth wet with what is probably drool (which is terribly unsexy in this instance, but Eggsy definitely doesn’t blame him for it). He hums into the kiss, a wounded animal noise that only get louder when Merlin’s hands clench against his back again, before struggling free of his jacket to lift to his head and clutch at his hair. 

Merlin’s return kiss is bruising. Eggsy feels his split lip open again under the pressure, the coppery taste of blood slicking across his teeth and his tongue as Merlin holds him in place and makes a thorough surveying of his tonsils. His fingertips press too tightly into Eggsy’s temples, ratcheting his headache up a thousand points, but Eggsy has an almost Pavlovian response to Merlin’s mouth by now, and he’s so far beyond caring he doesn’t even let the pain register. What he does is scrabble at Merlin’s shoulders, torn fingernails catching in Merlin’s pilot’s jacket, eventually getting a good grip so he’s stable enough that he can push back into the pressure Merlin is exerting. 

He’s familiar enough with Merlin’s cock to know what it feels like chubbing up in his trousers, which explains the bulge pressed to the side of his thigh. It’s probably just adrenaline, Eggsy reasons, and so ignores it, assuming that the last thing Merlin wants right now is to get his rocks off, even if Eggsy might sort of want to now that he thinks about it. 

His world lurches suddenly, Merlin surging to his feet without any warning, prompting Eggsy to clutch at him, a strangled yelp of surprise rising up in his throat. 

Merlin drops heavily to his knees a moment later after having taken two steps away from the railing — Eggsy can’t help the mental wince at that; he’s gonna have some pretty spectacular bruising tomorrow, if the dull thud of bone hitting the roof was any indication — and tips Eggsy onto his back before following him down. 

Eggsy would probably ask him what the hell he’s doing, or at least ask him if he’s sure he wants this, since it’s pretty obvious _what_ he’s doing, but landing on his back like that has knocked every little vestige of air out of his lungs, and it’s all he can do to suck a desperate breath in through clenched teeth as Merlin looms over him and slides one of his huge, hot hands between them. 

“C’mon,” Merlin rumbles, the first word he’s said since he started crying, his normally low voice made even lower and rougher from his tears. 

It’s devastatingly, confusingly sexy. Even the pain coursing through Eggsy’s body isn’t enough to stop him from reacting, his prick jumping in his pants, eager to meet Merlin’s hand as he flicks down the zip to his fly and reaches in through the slit in his boxers to wrap his long fingers around Eggsy’s shaft. 

“Merlin,” Eggsy gasps, already desperate, unsure if he’s desperate for an orgasm or desperate for _connection_ (or perhaps just desperate to take a proper breath without feeling like his lungs are trying to escape his ribs). His hands grapple at Merlin’s jacket, wanting it out of the way but apparently not knowing how to make that happen. 

Merlin ignores his fumbling, withdrawing his own cock and wrapping his hand around them both. Eggsy’s cock jolts, his stomach tightening, all the blood that’s left in his body rushing down to leave his cock feeling harder than he thinks it’s ever been. 

It’s dizzying, going from zero to sixty so bloody fast, and Eggsy feels a little like he’s been left reeling, but no matter how disoriented his head is, his prick is one hundred percent on board with this train, hard and straining in Merlin’s grip as he starts to move his hand and they rub against each other in short, sharp bursts. 

Neither of them have lube, obviously, and there hasn’t been enough foreplay for any sort of precome to ease the way, so the slide of skin against skin is dry as _fuck_ , uncomfortable and sharp when it should be luxurious and _slick._ Eggsy can’t give less of a fuck, clinging to Merlin’s shoulders and gasping for air through an open mouth, staring transfixed up at Merlin as he jerks them both off with one hand, all his weight braced on his free hand. Merlin looks wild, almost feral, his eyes somehow sharper without the glasses that Eggsy knows for a fact he actually needs to see and doesn’t just use for their high-tech features. Eggsy feels flayed open under that stare, pinned like one of Harry’s horrible fucking butterflies, unable and unwilling to move away from the intensity in Merlin’s eyes. 

His orgasm hits him like the train in the fucking underground tunnel test, coming out of nowhere and leaving him trembling and breathless, gut-punched, floating in a place between pleasure and pain that doesn’t feel real at all. Merlin follows soon after, the frantic pace of his hand stroking between them stilling as he squeezes tight and shouts hoarsely in Eggsy’s ear, his cock pulsing against his and semen spilling between them to make an even greater ruin of his clothes. 

Eggsy will be devastated later, that the one suit Harry had made for him has been destroyed, but at the moment he can’t think of anything at all. 

Lying flat on his back, the rain puddle Merlin had deposited him square onto seeping through his shoulders, the man in question lying uncomfortably half-sprawled on top of him, all Eggsy can do is breathe, staring up at the misty clouds overhead and letting the rain cool his cheeks. 

“Jesus Christ, _fuck._ Fuck.” Merlin sighs, shifting his weight from one hand to the other, so that when he reaches up to touch Eggsy’s face, his hand isn’t covered in come, which Eggsy thinks is quite thoughtful of him, actually. “Eggsy, lad, are you—” his voice cracks for a moment, but he rallies quickly, “—alright?” 

Eggsy can’t help himself. He bursts out laughing, wheezing and giggling as he squirms beneath Merlin’s weight, more to feel his entire body and reassure himself it’s still there and still working than because he wants the weight to disappear. 

“Pretty sure I’ve cracked at least two ribs, guv,” he manages after a solid minute of giggles have started to die down, giggles that increase sharply when Merlin tries to get up and Eggsy frantically tries to make him stop. “No, don’t go. Stay. It’s alright, please. I’m alright. Don’t go.” 

Merlin looks visibly torn, clearly feeling guilty for aggravating Eggsy’s injuries, but Eggsy is feeling incredibly needy right now. Absently, he wonders if whatever shock he’d been feeling before is wearing off, and the absence of that is making him frantic. If Merlin rolls off him and gets to his feet, that means he’s going to have to deal with what comes _after._

Better to stay in this moment, as bizarre and uncomfortable and _wet_ as it is. 

“Eggsy…” he warns, frowning. 

Eggsy grins at him, the cut in his lip stinging anew, and reaches up to smooth his thumb across the line that’s been carved between Merlin’s eyebrows, pushing at the skin until it melts away. 

“It’s alright,” he promises, lifting protesting arms to twine them about Merlin’s neck and tug until the man relents and lowers himself far enough that Eggsy can strain up and steal a kiss. “I toldja it’d be alright, and it is,” he continues, and flicks his tongue out to lick the inside of Merlin’s upper lip. “We made it.” 

Merlin lets out a shuddering breath against his mouth, his shoulders quaking for a moment as a full-body shiver crawls down his spine. Eggsy can feel every inch of it.

“We made it,” Merlin repeats, almost wonderingly. “Christ, Eggsy. This is such a fucking mess.” 

That’s a fucking understatement. 

“Yeah, it is, but we made it, Merlin. We’re alright. We’re alive, an’ we’re here.” Eggsy has no idea what he would have done if he lost both Harry _and_ Merlin in one fell swoop. Probably jumped off the roof after all, five-story drop or not. But Merlin is still here with him, Merlin made it through the same as he did, Merlin is pinning his legs down and making it hard to breathe and looking down at him with a cross between wonder and exasperated guilt, and Eggsy loves him with a fierceness that takes his breath away. 

_Oh._

Oh _fuck._

For a moment, Eggsy considers shoving that realization down just as strongly as he’s shoved down everything else from today (yesterday?), but that temptation evaporates far too quickly when he meets Merlin’s eyes again. Now is undoubtedly not the moment for a confession of such magnitude, but it was also a terrible moment to initiate a kiss earlier, and that turned out pretty well, all things considered. 

Eternal optimist that he is, Eggsy finds himself opening his mouth. “Pretty sure I fuckin’ love ya,” he blurts out, which leaves something to be desired, as declarations go, but Merlin doesn’t seem to mind too much, if the way his face crumples a little and his shoulders sag is any indication. 

“Eggsy…” he starts again, but Eggsy cuts him off with a shake of his head and by pressing his fingertips to the man’s mouth. 

“It’s alright,” he insists. “I know. I just...wanted to say it. Y’know. In case.” In case the world implodes around them again and he doesn’t get another chance to. It doesn’t upset him that Merlin hasn’t said it back, that he probably wasn’t going to. Maybe he was, though. It doesn’t matter. Merlin cares about him more than anyone else in his life, probably, and that means more to Eggsy than some silly little words do. He’s happy with the steady weight of Merlin’s stare pinning him down, with the warmth of his body pressed to his, with the warm brogue buzzing in his ear during missions and in moments like this, when their hearts are beating in rapid synchrony, each other’s sweat cooling on their skin.

Merlin’s expression is painfully gentle as he leans down to kiss him again, and Eggsy sighs happily into the contact. His whole body throbs painfully, one giant bruise. He should go down to Medical and get properly looked at. Instead, he slides his hands as far down Merlin’s chest as he can get with the angle they’re lying at. “You got any more fags on you?” 

After a moment where he just stares at him with an arched eyebrow, Merlin chuffs a laugh and shifts to wipe his sticky hand off on Eggsy's shirt, that fucking berk, before he rolls off him so that they wind up lying side by side. 

“Aye,” he agrees, fishing in his pocket to pull out a slightly-battered pack of cigarettes and a non-grenade lighter, passing them both to Eggsy. 

They’ve still got their cocks out, soft and sticky as they poke out of their flies. Eggsy snickers as he lights up, but makes no move to tuck himself away, enjoying the ridiculousness of it all as Merlin shifts a tiny bit closer so that their shoulders touch. Sharing a cigarette after sex is such a cliche, and Eggsy loves it, grinning to himself as he blows a plume of smoke up into the misting rain, holding the cigarette out for Merlin to take. 

His grin widens when, instead of plucking it from his fingers, Merlin just pulls his hand over and takes a drag from the cigarette still held in Eggsy’s grip. 

“Dare I ask what’s so funny this time?” Merlin does indeed ask, smoke curling around his lips. He’s squinting a little without his glasses, but Eggsy doesn’t give them back, just returns the cigarette to his lips and takes as deep an inhale as his battered ribs will allow him. 

“It’s nothin’,” he assures him, switching the cigarette to his other hand so he can reach down and slot his fingers between Merlin’s, a gesture the man allows with surprising ease. 

Soon enough, they’re going to have to tidy themselves up and return to the demands of the real world, the reality of what they’ve done, but for now, he’s content to hold Merlin’s hand and share a cigarette on the roof in the rain, cold and damp and bitter and sore, and so fucking _alive._

"We made it, Hamish."


End file.
